Read Online A Gentleman's Secret ~ The third novelette from "Different Desire", a Gay Victorian Romance and Erotic novelette collection by Lady T. L. Jennings - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lady T. L. Jennings
Ads: Link
unlucky gentleman. The thieves were talking together quietly in one of the broadest and most vulgar Cockney accents I had ever heard, and I had a hard time understanding them.
“Are you sure there is no one else here, Simon? I thought I heard something … ”
“Just be quiet and shine the damned light on the lock,” said the young man , who apparently was called Simon.
“I am. Do you need help with that?”
“Of course not, moron! And there is no one here, all right ? I have had the bloody house under observation for days. The coxcomb who lives here is on some sort of holiday , according to one of the maids. He is not coming back for days,” Simon said in an irritated voice.
“I still do not like it. This place gives me the creeps. Did you see those small, weird heads over there?” t he other thief said and waved the lantern towards the shelves with my uncle’s collection of small tribal heads. “Do you think they are real human heads?”
“Of course they are not ! Do not be an idiot ! Even African humans are not that small , and what the hell would they have done to make them that tiny ? Shrunk them?”
“Are you sure you do not need help with that lock?”
“No! Curse you!”
The sound of wood splintering and glass breaking was accompanied with an impressive stream of uncultivated and obscene curses, which made my eyebrows climb to my forehead. I had edged closer, and this was the perfect opportunity for me to make my entrance .
“I do not recall inviting unknown gentlemen, such as you, to my house in the middle of the night,” I said calmly with a loud voice and raised my spear as I took a step into the drawing room. “Not that I believe that I would ever do that ,” I added in distaste for good measure.
*
The break-in at Holland Park Avenue in Kensington was by far the worst burglary attempt I had ever done in my entire career as a thief. It did start off rather well. I had localized a potential house by paying one of the small street urchins, who sold newspapers along the street, to keep an eye open for houses that appeared empty. Then I had talked to one of the pretty maids who worked there, and using my inborn charm , I got the information I was after: t he master of the house, a certain Anthony Percival-Davis , was indeed at some fancy country house outside of London, together with his rich family , and would not come back until after January , when the season started. It was perfect, or so it seemed.
I decided to bring Little Brian along, which perhaps was the first of many mistakes. Brian was called Little Brian since he was unusually short. I had chosen him because he was slightly daft , but generally good at doing what he was told.
The best way to enter the house was to scale the stone wall to the back garden and then climb the thick branches of ivy that covered the better part of the white terraced house. The kitchen entrance was barred and had a strong lock , which looked rather daunting to pick , and all the windows on the lower floors had been fitted with rather unwelcoming wrought - iron bars. However, in contrast, the windows on the second floor were almost laughably easy to open. All you need ed wa s a slim knife and you were in.
Entering the house was , therefore , not a problem; however , the house itself was rather eerie and filled with strange and exotic objects. Brian’s nervous behaviour did not help either, nor did his rambling about strange noises and his sick fascination over the small weird African heads , or wherever the hell they were from. I did not know if they were real human heads or not, and I definit e ly did not want to know. The idea made me slightly nauseous , and I wished that Bria n would stop talking about them!
However, when I saw the glass cabinet , which was filled with exotic jewellery in the loveliest colour of gold, I kne w that this really would be it: t his was the lucky chance I had been waiting for. Those shiny necklaces and
“Are you sure there is no one else here, Simon? I thought I heard something … ”
“Just be quiet and shine the damned light on the lock,” said the young man , who apparently was called Simon.
“I am. Do you need help with that?”
“Of course not, moron! And there is no one here, all right ? I have had the bloody house under observation for days. The coxcomb who lives here is on some sort of holiday , according to one of the maids. He is not coming back for days,” Simon said in an irritated voice.
“I still do not like it. This place gives me the creeps. Did you see those small, weird heads over there?” t he other thief said and waved the lantern towards the shelves with my uncle’s collection of small tribal heads. “Do you think they are real human heads?”
“Of course they are not ! Do not be an idiot ! Even African humans are not that small , and what the hell would they have done to make them that tiny ? Shrunk them?”
“Are you sure you do not need help with that lock?”
“No! Curse you!”
The sound of wood splintering and glass breaking was accompanied with an impressive stream of uncultivated and obscene curses, which made my eyebrows climb to my forehead. I had edged closer, and this was the perfect opportunity for me to make my entrance .
“I do not recall inviting unknown gentlemen, such as you, to my house in the middle of the night,” I said calmly with a loud voice and raised my spear as I took a step into the drawing room. “Not that I believe that I would ever do that ,” I added in distaste for good measure.
*
The break-in at Holland Park Avenue in Kensington was by far the worst burglary attempt I had ever done in my entire career as a thief. It did start off rather well. I had localized a potential house by paying one of the small street urchins, who sold newspapers along the street, to keep an eye open for houses that appeared empty. Then I had talked to one of the pretty maids who worked there, and using my inborn charm , I got the information I was after: t he master of the house, a certain Anthony Percival-Davis , was indeed at some fancy country house outside of London, together with his rich family , and would not come back until after January , when the season started. It was perfect, or so it seemed.
I decided to bring Little Brian along, which perhaps was the first of many mistakes. Brian was called Little Brian since he was unusually short. I had chosen him because he was slightly daft , but generally good at doing what he was told.
The best way to enter the house was to scale the stone wall to the back garden and then climb the thick branches of ivy that covered the better part of the white terraced house. The kitchen entrance was barred and had a strong lock , which looked rather daunting to pick , and all the windows on the lower floors had been fitted with rather unwelcoming wrought - iron bars. However, in contrast, the windows on the second floor were almost laughably easy to open. All you need ed wa s a slim knife and you were in.
Entering the house was , therefore , not a problem; however , the house itself was rather eerie and filled with strange and exotic objects. Brian’s nervous behaviour did not help either, nor did his rambling about strange noises and his sick fascination over the small weird African heads , or wherever the hell they were from. I did not know if they were real human heads or not, and I definit e ly did not want to know. The idea made me slightly nauseous , and I wished that Bria n would stop talking about them!
However, when I saw the glass cabinet , which was filled with exotic jewellery in the loveliest colour of gold, I kne w that this really would be it: t his was the lucky chance I had been waiting for. Those shiny necklaces and
Similar Books
![[Thomas Caine #1] Tokyo Black](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/618340/thumbs/152x264/thomas-caine-1-tokyo-black.jpg)
